


(Why Was I) Marked By You (When I Wanted Him)

by wickedwriter916



Series: Words Roll Off Your Tongue [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Caretaking, Character Death, Darcy Feels, F/M, Fate, Five Stages of Grief, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Loss of Parent(s), Loss of Spouse, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-18
Updated: 2016-07-18
Packaged: 2018-07-24 17:24:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7516828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wickedwriter916/pseuds/wickedwriter916
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It starts to get old: the number of time you hear that everything happens for a reason, how you’re told that you’ll get over it eventually. That it gets easier. </p><p>There are worse things that Darcy could do. She could drink herself into oblivion. She could pretend that everything is ok, bottle up every little emotion until she bursts. (So in the long and the short of it, falling in love with Bucky Barnes is not the absolute worst thing on the planet.)</p><p>Fate has nothing to do with it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	(Why Was I) Marked By You (When I Wanted Him)

**Author's Note:**

> This piece started because I finally had an ending, and you can blame Clint because it was all his idea. But no, really, this whole piece has been filling my inbox with love for two years (!) and I felt like I owed it to myself and to you all to wrap it up and get this finished. I need to note here, because I’ve mentioned it very little and I’ve gotten to a place in my life where I’m okay talking about it: my fiancé committed suicide two weeks after our daughter was born. It fucking sucked. Depression is an asshole and people with depression are the bravest, strongest motherfuckers I have ever met. I used to write as a means of self-prescribed therapy. And there was a lot of therapy going on with this one. I cried a lot on the 12th when I started this, and didn’t shed a single tear on the 13th. In fact, I was good all day, the people in my life where so incredibly loving and supportive that it made getting through the two-year anniversary not hating him or hating the world. I call it a victory.  
> I’m hoping that this does justice to the series for you all, and I can totally understand if people don’t like it. But it needed to be written. 
> 
> TLDR; This finishes a project started two years ago and I’m a suicide loss survivor.

Darcy is pissed. No, she’s fucking livid. Today was Jack’s sixth birthday party and last night Clint got called out to go Avenge with the team and left her to wrangle the rest of their son’s first grade class at Chuck E Cheese. Thor and Jane had come back from Asgard and everything for this. God love Jane, Darcy does, but that woman should _not_ be let around children (if she’s not dutifully ignoring all human beings below the age of 13, she’s trying to teach them how physics helps you blow things up, for _fun_ ), Darcy will testify in court that she is worse that Tony. But that was hours ago. Fucking seriously. It’s going on ten-thirty at night and Darcy has given up the ghost of trying to get their son into bed, seeing as how Clint insisted that he be present to give Jack his birthday present (it’s an archery set, of course) and Jack Francis Barton will not rest until he has opened every last birthday gift.

Where this mission has taken them Darcy doesn’t have a clue, because the only bit of news coverage that it’s received is a bland announcement that the Avengers were seen leaving the Tower earlier this afternoon and have not yet returned.

Her phone rings shrilly on the coffee table and she scrutinizes the screen before her. Tony was calling.

“Tony! Where are you guys!?” Darcy asked harshly. “It’s seriously fu-reaking late and Jack has got to go to bed at some point.”

Tony cleared his throat and asked, “Is Jane there?” in the calmest voice ever.

“The hell are you talking about Tony? No Jane isn’t here,” Darcy snapped. Jack looked up at her from his Transformer toys on the floor. Her heart started pounding erratically in her throat, she turned away from her son and paced the length of the room.

“I need you to get her,” Tony said again flatly.

“What? No. What’s going on?!” she said already making her way to the front door. “Stay there, Jack,” she threw over her shoulder. “Why do you need to talk to Jane? Is everything ok with Thor?”

“Stop,” Tony’s voice cracked. “Please stop asking. Just get her.” The phone clicked quietly in her ear and she pulled it back. Tony had hung up on her.

Darcy growled in frustration and pounded her fist on Jane and Thor’s door before pushing rudely inside. “Jane,” Darcy barked, looking at her sleeping friend.

Jane sat upright with a jolt, the blanket tangling around her shoulders and no less than three pencils stuck in her messy bun. “Whu-what?”

Darcy all but threw her phone at Jane. “Tony needs you to call him, won’t tell me what the fuck is going on,” she seethed, her teeth on edge.

Jane nodded quickly and fumbled with the phone.

Darcy didn’t wait to hear their stupid conversation, whatever the fuck it was about. She was roiling in anger and stomped quickly back to their suite. Inside she found Jack on the couch watching How To Train Your Dragon 3 in a zombie state. “C’mere J,” Darcy whispered, pulling him across her lap to snuggle. Her heart still thudding angrily in her chest.

Minutes later Jane softly pushed the door open. Darcy’s phone clutched in her white knuckle grip. “Darcy,” she said, voice calm and mannerism indicative of someone approaching a wounded animal.

She tensed and narrowed her eyes. “What is it Jane?”

Her friend’s hands reached out. “Jack, come here sweetie.” Jane began, eyes still locked on Darcy’s.

“No,” Darcy squeezed her son tight. Jack let out a whine of protest. “What happened?”

Jane took a breath. “Darcy, let go of Jack, please?”

“Just tell me what’s going on!” her voice starting to become shrill.

“There was an accident,” Jane hedged, hands still reaching for Jack.

“Is Clint ok? Is he in the hospital?” Darcy shrieked.

Jane exhaled a heavy breath, “Clint’s dead, honey.”

Darcy’s screams where only matched by Jack – both in pain and sorrow. He clawed at his mother as she clung to him for purchase in a world that was dissolving beneath her.

-

Darcy didn’t get the details. She didn’t fucking want them (“I don’t want to hear it!”) even after the team returned.

She only saw Thor, who by virtue of actually being her friend, forced his way into her suite the moment they returned home. Jane was pacing the length of hall outside of Jack’s room, where Darcy and her son were fitfully asleep on the twin bed.

“Jane,” Thor exhaled quietly, the petite scientist falling into his embrace. The tears fell silently for her friend.

“She doesn’t want to know, Thor. Don’t say a word,” Jane cautioned. “She’s been asleep about an hour at this point. Last time it was forty-five minutes before she woke shouting,” she shook her head. “Jack fell right back to sleep. She’s alternating between comatose and hysterical. I’m not equipped to deal with this, what do I do Thor?” Jane pleaded.

Thor nodded in understanding. “You remain with her, as her friend she will find comfort in your presence. It will be much needed in the days to come.”

Jane agreed solemnly and opened the door quietly. Both of them entered, tiptoeing to the bed and sitting side-by-side against the edge. Jane’s hand reached up and tucked into Darcy’s elbow and Thor’s fingers wrapped gently around her calf.

When Darcy jumped awake half an hour later she was soothed by Thor’s fingers rubbing circles on her skin and Jane’s light snores.

 

Pepper had several options delivered for the memorial service and wake. It wasn’t a hard decision to make, the plain tee shirt dress was decent enough. She didn’t trust herself enough to attempt any eye makeup so she figured that she would hide behind the darkened frames of the oversized sunglasses Jane provided.

Jack was harder to deal with. He fought her tooth and nail for no reason. He just said no (or screamed it). But he didn’t cry, he didn’t ask for his father, he just sat quietly until his mother asked him to do anything.

Darcy was sorely tempted to let him stay home and miss the memorial when Thor and Jane stepped in – what would she do without them? – Jane ushered Jack to his room while Thor allowed Darcy to use his shift as a giant Kleenex. In the end, Jane had gotten him – wrangled? Oh how the tables turn – into a dress shirt and slacks. Darcy wasn’t even mad about the purple chucks.

 

It starts to get old: the number of time you hear that everything happens for a reason, how you’re told that you’ll get over it eventually. That it gets easier. That it’s okay because he wasn’t your soulmate – that it wasn’t meant to be (FUCK THOSE ASSHOLES). That the pain will ease, fade to nothing. That you’ll stop feeling numb, that you’ll find joy again. It’s okay to be happy, angry, sad. Its normal to grieve but shouldn’t you get dressed before taking your kid to school/going to work (up your Ziggy with a wawa brush – flannel pants are clothes). He was a superhero -  it would have happened eventually – he’d’ve left you eventually (again with the Fuck. You).

Opinions (about death and losing a loved one) are like assholes – everyone has one, and everyone’s stink.

 

When she can’t sleep she pesters Jarvis to send her briefs to proof, mostly from Jane, but sometimes from R&D. It gets her through the insomnia (and keeps her out of a bottle).

“What do you think you’re doing down here?” a gruff voice sounds behind her.

Darcy’s shoulders tense. She thinks of just leaving and not saying anything to _him_ but guilt catches her sharply in her throat and she finds herself mumbling sarcastically into her hands (double face palm is the only proper way to greet one’s soulmate for the first time after the funeral of one’s spouse) “Tumbling down the rabbit hole, obviously,” she bites out.

He doesn’t reply, doesn’t touch her, offer comfort or distract her. He moves through from the eating area, where she has posted herself, to the kitchen. Bucky shuffles pans around and soon the warm smells of cooking reach Darcy.

When she wakes up on the couch, she’s warm from the blanket covering her, the sun has stretched lazily across the floor and the quiet murmurs of conversation accompany the sounds of cutlery on places. Darcy pops up and sees her glasses resting on the back of the couch. Pressing them to her face she watches Jane and Thor with Jack between them, for once eating the food on his plate instead of pushing it around. Steve and Bucky sit across from them, engrossed in quiet intercourse. She takes several minutes to watch them all, lips move silently around bites of food and Darcy can’t make out a word (Clint was the lip reader in the family) but she catches Bucky’s eye and holds it. He breaks contact – seconds, years – later and garners Jack’s attention, nodding in her direction, then Darcy gets an armful of snuggly six-year old and promptly forgets everything else.

 

 

 

There are worse things that Darcy could do. She could take Jack and go, move back in with her parents in Virginia. She could drink herself into oblivion. She could pretend that everything is ok, bottle up every little emotion until she bursts. So in the long and the short of it, falling in love with Bucky Barnes is not the absolute worst thing on the planet.

It begins with his silence. Aside from that first night, he says nothing. He’s a shadow in her periphery, the ghost she can see (not that she thinks Clint stalks the halls, but Bucky _does_ ). But he takes care of Jack. When Darcy is too buried in her work to help with homework, or too tired to cook Bucky has already provided (hey, it’s scientifically proven that if you wait long enough to make dinner, everyone will just have cereal). She happens to catch the results of one of Jack’s spelling quizzes and positively astounded that he’s doing so well in school, all things considered. If she manages a smile at Bucky in thanks for being a decent human being while she pulls her shit together, no one will judge her.

Jane must have noticed the drop in Darcy’s weight. She doesn’t say anything, but she side-eyes the fuck out of her when one of Clint’s old flannel shirts hangs disgustingly off of her thinning shoulder, the hollowness around her collarbones making Jane visibly shudder. Darcy starts finding plates of food left in the fridge, wrapped in wax paper. Sandwiches and cookies and apples brown-bagged on her desk. Jane gets her to eat by sharing, and soon both of them are taking leisurely lunch breaks, away from science either in the hallways with backs propped against walls, or in empty conference rooms streaming old music videos in TRL-fashion complete with black nail polish and commentary.

 

Bucky had been stalking around like a caged cat. Not that Darcy was paying him much mind (shut up hind brain, we know his ass looks fabulous), but with his subtle care over the last month (almost six months since…) she’d noticed him turn. His demeanor brooding, his shadow only slightly menacing over the last few days (culminating in this, she thinks, nothing good will come of this). He barges into the lab one afternoon, after she observes him stomp back and forth no less than six times. “Can I talk to you? I need to talk to you.”

Darcy flinches and almost reaches for the concealed handgun that she’d easily stopped carrying when Clint died (it was instinct – and an old promise that she could no longer keep). She clears her throat and snaps, “what?” more harshly than she intends.

He takes her hand (gently, she’s surprised) and leads her into the hall. “You don’t know. I need to tell you because you don’t know.”

Immediately Darcy’s defenses go up, “I don’t want to know,” she chokes out and tries to wretch free of him.

Bucky shakes his head violently, “no you need to. I was there. When he-“

 

_The ground shook with the force of the explosion. Perimeter charges? No, they were in the foundation. Hydra sure as shit didn’t want their technology and experiments to fall into the wrong hands. Hulk roared in the foreground of Bucky’s vision as a section of the building collapsed into itself._

_“Sit rep!” Steve (he’d always be Steve to Bucky, no matter what) shouted over the comms._

_Iron Man buzzed overhead, firing on visible enemies, “I’m right here, Cap.”_

_“North east tree line,” Bucky said softly._

_“Northern flank,” Thor sounded off._

_“Uh, south east corridor,” Clint responded._

_There were several seconds of communication silence while they fought their opponents._

_“Widow! Report!” Steve barked, an edge of worry coloring his voice._

_The pause, this time was longer. “Uh, south, west quadrant.”_

_Bucky’s eyes zeroed in on the collapsed section of the base._

_“Hawkeye, Clint! Stand down!” Steve shouted in his Cap voice over the commlink._

_Bucky took off in a dead run for the archer, knowing that he could outpace him even in the rough terrain. “I’m on him!” he said catching a glimpse of him ahead._

_“I can save her!” Clint yelled, the desperation bleeding into his tone._

_“No,” Bucky said, getting a hand around his neck and pulling him to a stop. “You can’t, we’ll get her, Steve an I will get her!”_

_“Uh oh, guys. I’m getting a really high spike in radiation,” Iron Man buzzed over the comms._

_“How high, Tony?” Steve asked._

_“This suit is insulated, you and the metas will be fine; our resident human hero…” he trailed off brokenly. “Nat, what did you do?!”_

_“How much time do we have to get them out?” Cap demanded._

_“I stopped a warhead, with my face,” Natasha laughed bitterly._

_Clint turned back to Bucky, the pain etched so clearly across his face. “Take care of her for me, will you. Both of them,” he smiled grimly._

_Bucky cocked his head to the side questioningly. “No- what? Take care of them yours-“ and Clint struck him with an EMP arrow. His grip released from Clint’s collar and he twitched, the muscles in his chest and neck seizing with the voltage._

_“Clint! CLINT! STOP!” Steve commanded across the battlefield._

_Bucky glared in anger as the archer disappeared into the cracked side of the building and his legs wouldn’t listen to his head to get up and go after him._

_Steve came parkour-ing into Bucky’s line of sight, and detoured when he saw his friend convulsing on the ground. “You see where he went?”_

_The sniper raised a shaking hand to point out the sliver of space Barton had slipped into. Steve touched his helmet, “Thor can you get them? I’m getting Bucky back to the quinjet-“_

_The shockwave hit them first, that close to the building. The outpouring of fire, chemicals and debris came second. Billowing poisonous smoke threatened to choke them, but Bucky and Steve couldn’t move away let alone avert their eyes from the last place two of their team mates had disappeared to._

 

The tears didn’t stop for a long time after that. Darcy thought it was like losing him all over again. (Part of her loved that he was such a fucking hero the other part of her hated that he died trying to save **her** ). Bucky went back to not talking. He didn’t go away, but he didn’t say anything else. He stuck to Darcy’s side like a burr. Stepped in to guide Jack, pulled her away from the labs when she was there for more than 12 hours consecutively. Made her dinner, made her eat her dinner (with a stink eye that would make Nana Lewis proud), put on period dramas, musicals, silent films, buddy comedies. He held her hand, he gave her Kleenex, he let her use him as a human pillow.

He blamed himself she realized.

She pulled him into bed with her one night.

“What do you think you’re doing down here?” It’s a familiarity. Almost an inside joke.

She pushes him into the covers and piles up pillows around them, “tumbling down the rabbit hole, obviously.”

Neither of them sleep, just soak in the comfort of a calming presence nearby. “I’m sorry I couldn’t save him.”

“It was his choice,” Darcy dismisses.

“No, I should have stopped him, he should have come home to you. It should have been me,” Bucky groused.

“Clint had a choice. He knew what would happen if he went in that building, if he went after-“ for the life of her Darcy can’t say her name without spitting venom, and she can’t bring herself to disrespect the dead, especially a woman that these men loved. “I’m not saying that it was brave or that it was stupid. I’m saying it was a choice, it was a selfish choice and he made it.” And he didn’t think of me, she doesn’t voice, but Bucky hears it all the same.

 

He calls her Doll. Just a slip of the word, he freezes when he says it but Darcy doesn’t stop him. She doesn’t exactly hate it.

 

Jack calls him Pop. The grin that lights up Bucky’s face (he’s not a Dad, he wouldn’t ever be a Dad) warms Darcy’s insides like she hasn’t felt in a year.

 

They keep saying their words. Each time is a little lighter, a little brighter. Eventually, they stick and it hurts. But not in the way that they think (Bucky will never forgive himself of fucking up the first time, but then they would never have Jack, so he can’t be too mad). Darcy will always have a spot inside her that both loves and hates Clint. She misses the fuck out of him, isn’t sure that she ever _won’t_. But most days she looks at their son and thinks that she’ll never understand why he would willing give them up. If Bucky catches her being melancholy it doesn’t last long, she pulls herself out of it before he can decide if a cold beer or a hard fuck is the better option (she usually decides for him).

 

Darcy doesn’t dwell too much on their marks, not anymore, not like she would have (did) ten years ago. There’s a healthy level of love and respect for Clint Barton in the Barnes family household; but Darcy has given up on blaming him for leaving (she thanks him for his love, for their child, for his words). Deep down she knows that Natasha was right, she’ll bite her fucking tongue off before she ever admits it, and that conversation will follow her (and Jarvis and Jane) to the grave: you can’t deny Fate. But she knows that she needed to marry Clint Barton, that she needed to love him. (Things that she thinks would annoy her about Bucky don’t because she was married to Clint, and prince charming he was not.) He was her heart, and she loved him deeply. Their love was not a mistake; it was a choice. It was her choice to let Bucky in after everything that had happened between them. It was Bucky’s choice (not a promise, not fate) to adopt Jack, to treat him like his own son, to love his mother with every fiber of his being. If they chose to go their own way (before, during, _after_ ) it was their decision, not the Powers That Be.

 

If they choose to fill their home with love and the laughter of children it’s because the sex is great and Jack is a great older brother.

Fate has nothing to do with it.


End file.
